


That's Showbiz

by phix27



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-05
Updated: 2012-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-01 04:09:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phix27/pseuds/phix27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As one of the stars in a BDSM show at an erotic circus, Harry has seen some sexual acts that would boggle your mind.  Does that mean he likes them?  No.  How can he, when he feels nothing at all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's Showbiz

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for my friend Ines' birthday. I hope you like it babe! This was a long time coming, I know, but I hope it's good enough for you :3
> 
> There are no BDSM sex scenes, in case you were wondering. It's pretty vanilla, all told. I hope you enjoy it!

_“Diamonds are a girl’s best friend!”_

The final whole note of Natalia’s song was their cue.  Harry straightened the cuffs on his tuxedo jacket and, with a weary sigh, picked up his top hat and placed it on his head. 

“Ready?” His partner asked, and he nodded in reply.  Harry didn’t look at him, for he knew his outfit, his “game face” as well as he knew his own.  He was slightly- okay, much more covered than his partner, who wore a skimpy black leather contraption.  It covered his cock and that was all.  Black leather straps went up and over his shoulders, broken only by two silver hoops that framed his nipples and connected to the g-string that didn’t cover anything in back.  But this was business and it paid, no matter how ridiculous they looked while doing it. 

Natalia slipped through the curtain, clutching her sparkling faux-diamond bodice to her chest.  It was a skimpy thing make of strings of fake jewels that didn’t do much to cover up her large bosom, but then, Harry had already seen everything she had to offer, as did everyone else.  She was gorgeous, of course.  And he wasn’t even interested in women. 

She smiled at them and blew her blonde hair out of her eyes.  “Your turn, loves.  They’re a bawdy bunch tonight.”  She winked one of her heavily made up eyes, lashes looking like caterpillars on her cheek, before clicking off in her obnoxiously high heels. 

“Last night,” his partner muttered beside him, more as a pep talk for himself than as actual conversation.  “This is the last night in this hell hole.”

“And then it’s on to the next one,” Harry replied as he pulled on his white satin gloves and grabbed his cat-o’-nine-tails. 

“Don’t remind me,” Draco groaned as Ron announced their act and the music began to play.  They burst through the curtain, the widest of fake smiles on their faces.  _Welcome to the circus, ladies and gents._

***

“Don’t hit so hard next time,” Draco said as he limped in to the background music of applause and the groans of men and women masturbating to completion.  Music to their ears, or at least, the boss’ ears. 

Harry took a moment to watch the blood trickle down Draco’s back before he pulled off his faintly pink gloves and put them in his pocket.  “If I didn’t, you’d complain,” he told him, not really invested in the conversation. 

Draco waved a hand at him.  “Technicalities.”  Harry snorted.

He and Draco headed back stage- which was just fancy talk for jumping off the back of the make-shift stage the circus made at each stop as a platform for performing.  It was a small thing, though not badly made.  It was easy to set up as well, taking only one person a moment to cast a spell.  The big top, which it was set up in, took much longer and many more people to raise.  It was made of sturdy wood that was stained from various bodily fluids up on the stage, especially from Harry and Draco’s BDSM show, the most popular one in the circus.

They walked the field that was the fair ground for this week, Draco limping along beside him.  Harry rolled his eyes; he hadn’t hit _that_ hard.  For no real reason, he ran a finger down the slight cuts.  Draco hissed but arched back into the touch.  Harry smirked and pulled his hand away, wiping a bit of blood on Draco’s arm.  It left a faint reddish-brown smear, which stuck out blatantly on his pale skin.

Though his car was closer to the stage, Draco always walked with Harry to his car- train car, that was.  Each performer had their own; they were the money after all.  The carnies, stand-runners and set-up crew had to share cars.  Of course, they had perks of their own.  Such as not degrading themselves in the same way Harry and Draco did every night.

There were doors on both ends of his car.  Beyond one was one of the acrobats from the morning circus.  By day they were just a regular carnival; by night they were an erotic circus.  To this day, Harry didn’t know why he chose the latter.  Probably because it was the only thing he was good at, besides killing Dark Lords.  They’d all learned to sleep through the noise of crowds and of their neighbors.  It was just part of the job, and part of the contract they had to sign.  Silencing charms helped though.

Pushing open the door, Harry led the way into his modest car.  On the right were two chairs, a coffee table between them.  A mini refrigerator was further down, hidden beneath a pair of cabinets and beside a stove and sink.  Though they were muggle appliances, they ran on magic, much like everything did at the circus, though not many of their visitors knew it.  Muggles, the majority of them were, and it was a good thing.  If the Wizarding World ever knew how far they’d fallen… well. 

Against the left wall, near the door, was a small twin bed, bolted to the floor so he could sleep during long day journeys.  Everything was bolted down, come to think.  Beyond that was a single dresser which held all his clothes, both work and every day.  He didn’t need much.  Against the back wall was his trunk, where he kept his props.  Harry crossed to this piece and pressed his hand against the lid.  It was magically enchanted to only recognize his palm, and popped open after a moment.  Reaching in, he pulled out his wand, vaguely hearing Draco putt around, probably doing the usual.  They did this after every show.

Harry pulled out his gloves and spelled them back to pristine white; he’d become rather adept at cleanings spells.  Healing spells too.  Shucking his coat, he rolled up the white shirt sleeves, spelling the blood off of that and his jacket.  If he didn’t get if off now, he never would.  Taping his pants once, he got rid of any suspicious substances there as well, before pulling off his bowtie and top hat.  These he placed in the trunk along with the cat, which he tapped to clean as well.  The boss expected perfection and besides, the cat was one of his favorites.

Turning around, Harry rolled his eyes at his partner.  Draco was standing, stark naked, in the middle of his “kitchen”.  He was riffling through the cabinets, clicking his tongue if he saw something he didn’t like.  Finally, he selected a box.  “Tea?” he asked, already filling the kettle and setting in on to boil, so it was a useless question.  He chose to ignore it.

“Put some clothes on,” Harry muttered, although he didn’t know where Draco would get clothes from anyway. 

His partner, of course, ignored him.  “We’re having chamomile,” he informed Harry, but it was something Harry already knew.  They always had chamomile on the last day in a place.

Sighing, he moved to sit in one of the chairs, kicking his shoes off on the way.  “Come here,” he beckoned.  “I’ll heal your wounds.” 

Silently, Draco complied.  He straddled the tiny coffee table, but Harry didn’t bat an eyelash, even though he was completely nude.  Twirling his wand once, Harry muttered the spells that would heal the tiny cuts on his back under his breath.  There were many of them, as there always was when they did the routine with the cat.  Little things, they were, but they bled a lot and that’s what attracted the audience.  Draco certainly didn’t mind either.

He finished in a moment, leaving one or two, because that’s how Draco liked it.  He knew everything Draco liked- well, when it came to sex that was.  Harry was pants when it came to other things Draco liked, such as his favorite color.  He simply didn’t have an interest. 

Rubbing one hand down his shoulder, Harry dropped his hand away when the kettle whistled.  Draco got up without so much as a ‘thank you’ to get it, making the tea with familiar clangs.  Harry closed his eyes and rested his head back against the seat, putting his feet up on the recently vacated coffee table.  He reached out without opening his eyes to take the cup Draco’s plunked into his hands. 

“Good show today,” Draco said after a few moments of quiet sipping.  “They really liked it.”

“They always do,” Harry answered and even to himself, his voice sounded hollow, empty.  Weary, almost.

Even though the tea was hot, the heat didn’t seem to reach him.  Not anymore.  He’d been taken down too many pegs by his job now that he couldn’t feel anything anymore.  All the emotions, all the love he had once prided himself on, had been stripped from him the way Natalia peeled her clothes off every night. 

How had it come to this?  How had he become little better than a whore?  Blame it on a world with no need of him now that the Dark Lord was gone.  He hadn’t fit in anywhere, none of them had.  They were the lost generation, the product of a war with no future, no prospects, nothing at all besides time and memories.  They would have been better off dead, or waiting in a museum somewhere.  All of them had been wasting away- at least, until the boss had gotten this idea. 

The Carnival of Pleasures was its name, and a better double entendre was never heard.  By day it was a normal carnival, with rides and attractions.  There was a separate staff who worked during the day and slept during the night.  But by night, well, that was where the ‘pleasures’ part really came into play.

They were an erotic circus, to put it politely.  A whorehouse, to put it crudely.  Except they really weren’t, because touching wasn’t allowed.  It was all acts for the voyeuristic pleasure of the crowds they drew.  They didn’t advertise beyond whispers, but it was enough to pull in large crowds, larger every night. 

It had seemed good at the time, a way to pass the days and be fulfilled.  At least, that’s what he thought.  The ones who had something to lose- their families, their reputation- told them that they were traveling dignitaries for the Ministry, or some other job that was always traveling, but that their work was hush hush and couldn’t be discussed.  It was a good enough cover, one that didn’t hurt anyone.  It also gave them reason not to write or Floo often.  A win-win for all.  Right? 

Harry hadn’t originally wanted to work in the Night Circus; he’d thought he’d be working during the Day, with the animals or… something.  But he’d had no skills, in that area at least, and when the boss had suggested this idea… well, he’d had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

He was wrong.

When the boss had suggested he do a BDSM show, he’d been wary.  When it was suggested Draco be his partner, he’d refused.  There was no way he’d demean himself that way with Malfoy of all people.  It was bad enough he had to do it at all.

Ha.  Haha.  Ha.  If only he’d known.

The boss coerced him into one show, and well, he’d been hooked.  It had been Draco’s idea, the whole BDSM thing, and Harry didn’t know how he’d known.  The crowds, the lights, the sheer _power_ of it all… and most of all, the attention.  Harry hadn’t known he’d missed it.  Missed the spotlight, missed being the focus.  He’d always thought he’d hated that.  BDSM was the way he got it once more, without the media knowing, without all the hitches that had gone with it before.

Surprisingly, he and Malfoy had worked well together.  They didn’t speak much- they didn’t need to, whores weren’t supposed to talk- but they had a companionship of sorts.  A routine, both on the stage and off.  They knew each other’s bodies, each other’s kinks, inside and out.  Personalities?  Not so much.  Harry didn’t know if he wanted to.

“What are you thinking about?” Draco asked, breaking Harry out of his thoughts.

His eyes opened and locked on the man across from him.  His legs were crossed elegantly, as if he were at tea with his mother and not stark naked.  Harry grunted and shrugged slightly, sipping his own cuppa.  “Nothing really.”

Draco made a hum of understanding and they went back to their comfortable silence until the door opened.  They both turned to watch Hermione sashay inside, ever-present clipboard in hand.  Unlike everyone else, she really could have been a dignitary, the way she was dressed.  Harry didn’t know how a pantsuit fit in at a carnival, especially the one they were in, but Hermione didn’t seem to care.  She didn’t even look up from her notes as she scribbled something. 

“Good show tonight boys,” she said, dotting one last ‘I’ before looking up.  Hermione didn’t even bat an eye when she saw Draco’s distinct lack of clothes.  They were all too comfortable with each other’s bodies by now and old house rivalries were long gone.

Draco gave an amused smirk.  “Did you even look up to notice?”

“Of course,” she said, smacking his head with her quill.  “I was looking at the audience though.  Best crowd yet.”

“Thank you, thank you,” his partner said, giving a mock bow as he stood to put his cup in the sink.  “I’ll be going now.”  He trailed his fingers over Harry’s shoulder as he passed, just the lightest of touches, and kissed Hermione on the cheek before leaving.  Still naked. 

Shaking her head, Hermione took the seat recently vacated.  “You two really are our star attraction, you know?” 

“Wonderful,” Harry said, gazing into the dregs of his own cup.  “So glad.”

“You two would be good together,” she said softly.

Harry looked up, brow furrowed.  “I thought you just said we were?”

“That’s on stage,” she said, waving a hand.  “I didn’t mean like that, although you are.  I meant…” Her voice trailed off, but she gestured to his home.

He snorted, understanding her meaning all too well.  “No one can love a whore Hermione,” he answered, not harshly but matter-of-factly.  “And a whore can love no one, unless it’s their body.  That’s the cardinal sin.” 

“It wouldn’t hurt,” she argued.

“Yes it would.  Don’t lie.”

She sighed and played with the small feathers in her quill.  “When did you get so jaded Harry?”

He shrugged.  “About the third, fourth show?  Hard to pinpoint really.” 

“Oh Harry.”  He heard her stand and cross the room, though he was counting the rings from old glasses on his coffee table.  23, from what he could tell.  Harry could feel her hand on his hair, smoothing it down.  It had kept its unruly state, but apparently that appealed to the crowds.  She leaned down, resting her chin on the top of his head and he could smell her perfume, a mix of jasmine and rose.  “Where did my best friend go?”

“He’s still here.  Just different.”  Harry exhaled and closed his eyes, finally giving in and leaning into the embrace.  “The Gryffindor Golden Boy though, he’s gone.”

And the thing was, Harry didn’t know who was in his place.  He didn’t know who he was and that, well, that was the big mystery.  That was why he didn’t believe anyone could love him.  He couldn’t even love himself. 

 

“Hey Potter!”

Harry groaned as light from the sun invaded his home, burning his retinas from behind his closed eyelids.  He pulled the covers over his head, though he knew it was a moot point.  “Go away Pansy,” he called.

And there his protection went.  Harry cracked his eyes open and attempted a glare at Pansy Parkinson, who stood above him wrapped in his duvet.  “Hm,” she said, staring at his crotch.  “I’d always thought you slept in the nude.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, resisting the urge to cover his boxer-clad self.  Thank Merlin he hadn’t had morning wood.  That would just be too much.  “What are you even doing in here?  What time is it?”

“It’s 5 am,” she informed him, poking him a couple times until he sat up.  Pansy wrapped the comforter around his shoulders and moved closer to his side.  He would call it cuddling, if it were anyone but Pansy.  “I was supposed to get you up.  We need to pack.  Boss’ orders.”

“You don’t do it very nicely,” Harry grumbled.  He took a moment to enjoy the warmth.  They had a weird relationship, him and Pansy, one formed because of forced time together.  He wouldn’t call her a friend, per say- many more words came before that one.  Annoyance was the top one.  But at the end of the day, he did kind of enjoy her company.

Harry sighed and stood.  He moved to his dresser, feeling Pansy’s eyes on him.  With little modesty, he began to dress, putting on an old flannel shirt and rather ratty jeans.

“I know we’re not the most respectable of people, but couldn’t you bother to look at least somewhat presentable for once?” she sniffed, shifting around on the bed.

Harry snorted and adjusted his collar.  “You’ve known me for how many years.  Have I ever cared how I looked?” 

“Mmm.”  He turned to see her lying in his bed, about to take a nap.  Rolling his eyes, Harry threw the closest thing he had at her.  It just turned out to be his wand.  Why he didn’t cast a spell, well, he’d never been considered for Ravenclaw. 

“Get up lazy,” he said, nudging her foot.  He couldn’t see his wand, which didn’t bode well for him.  “You’re not getting out of take down.”

“I did my job,” she protested but sat up anyway.  “God your hair is atrocious.”  Pansy attempted to fix it and Harry let her, though it was a futile attempt.  His hair couldn’t be tamed, but Pansy had to get her way, or consequences were dire.  He flinched, knowing exactly _how_ dire those consequences were.

“Are you done?” he asked after a moment. 

She sighed and nodded, taking his arm.  “It’s hopeless and we’ve stalled as long as we can.  Better get out there.”  Pansy gave him his wand as an afterthought, having pulled it out of God knows where.

They jumped down from his car and headed across the field, which looked infinitely different in the daylight.  At night it looked a bit ominous, debauched and dirty.  In the light of day, it looked happy, even with the rides and stands being taken down. 

  1. “Get to it!”



They hurried off, wands at the ready.  Moving day was always hectic, with everyone running around, spells being thrown.  It took a lot of people and a lot of magic to take down the Big Top and especially the rides.  The few Muggles in their company were used to magic, having had family members who were wizards, so they didn’t mind.  The real problem was the Muggles who came from the town to watch them take it down.  Of course, Goyle was rather good at scaring them away. 

Pansy and Harry passed Blaise Zabini, who was herding the lions and other animals into their cages.  They waved and Blaise waved back, narrowly avoiding smacking a tiger in the face.  The carnival had a mixture of muggle and magical creatures, the latter being passed off as “grotesque freaks of nature!”  Somehow that always attracted people.  The others were trained, used in acts like Blaise’s. 

Taking everything down took the better part of the day.  Most things could be taken down with magic, but some things (like the roller coasters) didn’t react well to magic and had to be taken down by hand.  They were finally finished and all packed away by noon and were on their own for lunch as the train pulled out, heading for their next destination.  It was a quiet afternoon in his car, wasted away by periodic napping and reading.  Luckily he was doing the latter when Draco barged in from the acrobat’s door.  Beyond him, he could see a very disgruntled Charlotte sitting on her bed and glaring at his back, though Draco didn’t seem to even notice. 

“Hey Potter,” he said, closing the door with his foot.  “I’m here to steal your tea.”

Well.  At least he was honest.  That was an improvement. 

Draco was dressed much better today- aka, not nude- in a nice pair of grey robes.  Most of them wore Muggle clothes when they had off days, but Draco was the exception.  He’d sniffed and said that he certainly wasn’t going to forget his heritage, even if they all did. 

Like Harry could ever forget. 

Magic was still a big part in his life, even if he wasn’t The Boy Who Lived or The Chosen One anymore.  He still learned something new every day, even in this miserable profession.

“What kind?” he asked, checking to see how many pages were left in that chapter of his book.  Just two, he could finish that before the tea was ready.

“Green, with spearmint and lemon.”

“Sounds good,” Harry muttered, licking his finger and turning the page. 

Draco didn’t seem to mind the silence as he fixed the tea, but then, he never did.  Their relationship, whatever it was, wasn’t based on words.  It was based on sex, pure and simple.  Sex, mind-numbing and meaningless, like a one night stand, but one that happened every night with the same level of detachment.  Sometimes Harry wondered if sex had ever meant anything to him, ever.  The sad thing was, he couldn’t remember.

The kettle whistled just as he finished, and Harry set his book aside and went to sit in his chair.  Funny, he didn’t even notice the swaying of the train anymore.  Draco handing him his cup and settled into the other chair, sipping tea just as delicately as always.  Harry rolled his eyes as he sighed and settled back, closing his eyes. 

“Where’re we going next?” he asked, attempting to make conversation.  That was the polite thing to do, even if it was with the person you had sex with for money every night.  Oh the tangled webs we weave.

Draco shrugged.  “Cardiff?  Pemberly?  America?  Hell if I know Potter.  You want to know, ask Granger.”

Harry rolled his eyes.  “Why do I even bother talking to you?”

He immediately regretted those words when Draco leered at him.  “I don’t know.  You could be doing so many better things with your mouth.”

“I do those things to you every night,” he answered dispassionately. 

That seemed to take the wind out of Draco’s sails, although he couldn’t place why.  “Yes, you do, don’t you?” he asked, sipping his tea and looking anywhere but Harry.

Well shit.  That couldn’t be good.  Harry tried to think of something else to say, to defuse the tension created by his… whatever he said.  He said stupid stuff all the time; Draco should be used to it by now. 

“Charlotte’s not very happy you walk through her place all the time,” he decided on, which perhaps wasn’t the best choice. 

At least Draco didn’t seem to mind.  “Hm, I sensed that as well.”

“You should just stay here,” Harry said.  “You’re over so often, it’d just make sense.”

“Mm, think I’d fit?” Draco asked, looking pointedly at the bed.

Immediately Harry colored, cheeks burning.  “I hadn’t- I mean I… er…”

The smirk on Draco’s face just caused his face to get hotter.  “Very articulate Potter.  Thank you for the offer, but you would get absolutely no sleep if I stayed here.”

_It wasn’t an offer_ , he almost said, but something said that wasn’t the right thing to say.  He didn’t even really know what it was, so best to just let it stand at offer and be done with it.  Yeah, good job Harry.  Maybe you are gaining some social skills.

“Why wouldn’t I get any sleep?” he asked, attempting to keep up the conversation.

Apparently it wasn’t working, from the droll look Draco gave him.  “Sex, Potter.  Why else?”

“Oh.”  Oh.  _Oh._   Was this… was Malfoy hitting on him?  No, that couldn’t be it.  They were talking about their job.  Yeah, that was it.  He didn’t even want Malfoy anyway.

“Oh,” Draco mocked, sipping the last bit of his tea and standing up.  “Well, I’ll go bother Charlotte now.”

“Charlotte doesn’t even like you,” he said, though he wasn’t sure why.  It seemed like stalling, but he didn’t know why he’d do that.

Malfoy gave him an affronted look.  “ _Everyone_ likes me Potter.  How dare you?” 

In revenge he set his cup on the table for Harry to clean up and stormed out the door, accompanied by the “GO AWAY MALFOY” of Charlotte.  God bless that woman.  Sighing, he finished his cup and grabbed Malfoy’s abandoned one, placing them in the sink to wash later.  Well, someone would wash them later. 

Instead of going back to his book or taking another nap, Harry opened the door on the opposite end of his car, aka Blaise’s.  It was weird, living next to a Slytherin (Charlotte had been a Hufflepuff, bless her soul) but not unpleasant, Harry had found.  Blaise was a nice neighbor, popping in for a cuppa every now and then. (Was that a Slytherin thing and Harry just didn’t know or…?)  But Harry rarely ventured into Blaise’s car because frankly, he didn’t know what  he’d see.  This was one of these times.

“God, Blaise!”  he said, covering his eyes.  Some things were better left unseen, and Blaise dressed in drag was one of them.  “What are you wearing?”

“A dress Potter.  I didn’t know you were blind as well as stupid,” was the reply.

Harry sputtered.  “I wasn’t- I’m not…”  He gave up.

“Uncover your eyes, you dolt.  It’s not that bad.”

Well, that depended on your definition of bad.  And this was definitely high up on Harry’s list, right next to Voldemort.  God, he’d never get that image burned out of his retinas.  Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Harry uncovered his eyes cautiously, taking in the image of an annoyed Blaise Zabini wearing a little black dress.  And dear Merlin, were those red heels?  Hell. 

“Are you coming in or not?” Blaise asked, seeming totally unperturbed and sashaying his way to his bed, which was looking much more rumpled than bared thought.

“Er,” Harry said, weighing each option before stepping in with a sigh.  He didn’t bother shutting the door since, well, there was no reason.  He did choose, however, to sit in one of Blaise’s chairs instead of on the bed.  “Why are you dressed like…” he gestured “that?” 

Blaise shrugged.  “It’s very freeing.  Besides, Ginny likes it.”

“Oh.  Oh, _ew_ ,” Harry moaned, closing his eyes hard to try and vanish that image.  God, that was one thing he didn’t need to know, much less visualize.  

“You should know Potter, she is you ex-girlfriend.”

“Yes but we never… we didn’t… Merlin,” was his very intelligent reply. 

After the defeat of Voldemort, Harry and Ginny hadn’t gotten back together.  There was no real reason.  They’d never talked about it, it was just mutually understood.  When Harry had told her he was gay, Ginny had breathed a sigh of relief.  “Good,” she had said.  “Now I can stop feeling guilty for not getting back together with you.” 

From there she’d moved on to others, most notably Blaise.  Why they didn’t live together, well, that was one mystery Harry didn’t want to solve.  It was bad enough Blaise looked at her and called himself “The Lion Tamer”.  Those were more images Harry didn’t need.

“Is she coming over?” he asked, hoping to get to a safer topic.

Blaise gave him a ‘you are the dumbest person ever’ look.  “She was already here.”

“Oh Merlin’s dick in a box,” Harry moaned, eyeing the bed.  “I don’t even… ugh.  Okay I’m leaving.”

“Nice chat Potter,” Blaise said in a chipper tone, waving as he went back to his own place, shutting the door behind him.

Well.  Harry didn’t know if he was better having talked to Blaise, but it certainly had gotten his mind off of the Malfoy conversation.  Whatever that had meant. 

 

If there was anything worse than take down, it was set up.  There were too many things to do and not enough people to do them.  Frequently Harry found himself being torn from one thing or the other to set something up, even being interrupted taking a piss by Pansy.  The only exception to this was the setup of the big top, which took everyone’s power to raise.  It was exhausting, using so much power that frequently they’d lay on the ground for a bit afterward, just to get their collective breath back.  Then it was back to work, which took most of the day or night, depending when they’d arrived.

This time they arrived at day, which was fortunate.  They wouldn’t have to waste energy holding a _Lumos_ to see what they were doing.  It took hours, but thankfully they were almost done, and Harry was just finishing with one of the stands when Malfoy approached him.

“We’re going out for a pint in a bit,” he told Harry, not helping but just watching with a vague sort of interest.  “Want to come?”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry said, tongue sticking out a bit as he worked.  “Just a sec; I need to finish this.”

“The sign’s a bit crooked,” Malfoy offered unhelpfully. 

Turning, Harry glared at him.  “Maybe help me then?”

“No, I’m good.”  The prat was examining his nails.  “Malfoys don’t do manual labor.”

Harry snorted.  “Better not let the boss hear that.”

“Ah, the boss and I have an agreement.  I’m the star attraction, after all.”

“ _We_ are,” Harry corrected, stepping back to examine his handiwork.  Damn, the sign was crooked. 

“Sure, sure, we,” Draco said absentmindedly.  With a wave of his wand, the sign was straight.  Harry resisted the urge to punch the wanker.  “Get changed, you look like shit.”  And with that, his oh-so-wonderful partner left.

Grumbling, Harry went back to his car, limping slightly from an injury earlier in the day.  Blaise had dropped a piece of wood on him.  The worst part was, he hadn’t even seemed sorry.  Twats, the lot of them. 

He changed into something less dirty and was just tying his trainers when Ron burst into his car.  Really, you’d think it was a public place or something, with the amount of people who walked in like they owned the place. 

“Hey mate,” he said, acting like it was nothing.  “Ready to go?”

“Yep,” Harry answered.  “Where are we even?”

Ron shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Apparently Blaise knows the place though, so he’s leading us to the pub.” 

“Ah.  Well, let’s go then.”

They decided to walk instead of apparate, since they were going to a muggle bar.  Harry never thought he’d see the day when a Malfoy would deliberately walk into any muggle establishment, let alone one with drunk men falling all over the place, but he’d long stopped expecting things to be normal.  Hell, he was the Boy Who Lived to Work as a Whore.  Who would have expected that one?

 

“And then,” Ginny was saying, or well, trying to say through her laughter some time later.  “He tried to run away, but his pants were around his ankles and he fell in front of Natalia.  I swear his face was bright red.”

Their table was in an uproar, mostly from the drinks they’d all ingested, but the rowdy atmosphere and good company helped.  Harry’s sides hurt and he couldn’t remember having laughed that hard in a long time.  Amazing what a couple pints could do. 

Something was missing though.  He couldn’t quite pinpoint why he felt that way, but he did.  The table felt incomplete, and as he glanced toward the dance floor in between stories, he saw why.  There in the middle of the mass of winding, grinding bodies, he could see a fair blond head.  A small smile crossed his lips.  Malfoy was so distinct; anyone could pick him out of a crowd.  The most obvious reason was his looks, his hair and eyes and just whole way of carrying himself that spoke of a self-assurance that came with money, with class, with birth right.  Looking at him, you would never guess he was a whore.

The way he moved on the dance floor was hypnotizing, and Harry could feel himself being pulled down, drowning in the sway of his hips, the siren-like smile he gave to those around him, cocking his head and tilting his hips in a way that both spoke of sexual knowledge as well as devastation.  He had to look away, he had to look away…

Feeling another set of eyes on him, Harry finally tore his eyes away from the one body that captured him like no other, though he had it every night.  He looked right into the eyes of Hermione, her calculating eyes that seemed to peer right into his soul and know exactly how he felt about Malfoy, when he didn’t even know himself.  _Just a fuck_ , he reminded himself even as a flush crept up his neck.  _Just a job.  Remember that.  Never forget it._

And he wouldn’t, because it was too important to his mental health, to his job.  If he forgot that, he might allow himself to think ‘what if’s’, and that would be worse than being a whore.  That would make him long for things he couldn’t have.  And he gave up doing that for Lent a long time ago.

Hermione gave him a knowing smile, then jumped back in to the conversations around her.  Harry went back to watching the dance floor and the things he couldn’t allow himself to think.

 

“Come on,” he was murmuring three hours later, the blackness of night swirling around him like Death’s cloak, broken intermittently by street lights.

Beside him, Malfoy was dragging his feet, not even trying to walk.  They’d both had a few drinks- alright, more than a few- but either Harry had less or he just handled it better.  Malfoy was babbling on in that way that drunks are wont to do.

“I mean, I don’t understand,” he was saying, although Harry was more focused on putting one foot in front of the other.  “I’m attractive, right?”

“Sure,” Harry grunted, but Malfoy didn’t even seem to notice.

“Obviously, I mean, look at me,” he continued.  “And I could get anyone I want, right?”

“I don’t know about that,” Harry said.  “I mean, I’m sure there’re some lesbians…”

“Lesbians don’t count Potter,” Malfoy scoffed.  “Come on now.  The answer is obviously yes.  So why doesn’t he like me?”

“Why doesn’t who like you?”  Harry asked, tripping over a rock.  Shit.  Almost there, almost there.  Just two more blocks.  He thought.  He hoped.

“Just someone,” was the breezy answer.  “Someone kind of important and I think I might, you know, care about him, but he’s an arse, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah sure,” Harry answered, though he really didn’t.

“Mmm.  It’s just, he’s so damn cute.”

“Nice to know Malfoy.”

“Are we almost there?”

“Well fuck, I don’t know!”  Harry burst out.  “We just got here tonight and I’m dragging your drunk, bumbling ass home and I don’t even know where home is!”

“I’m sensing some anger here Potter.”

“Brilliant deduction Malfoy,” Harry spat out.  “You should have been a Ravenclaw.”

“Not nearly boring enough,” was the flippant answer, as if it didn’t matter that they were lost in a strange city. 

Harry slid down the nearest wall, face in his hands.  He didn’t even care that he was sitting on the dirty ground.  All he wanted was to go home and get away from all this.  Hell, he didn’t even want to go home, because a train car was not a home.  His only home had ever been Hogwarts, and sometimes he wondered if even that wasn’t his. 

A hand was placed on his head, gentle at first as it smoothed his hair back and down.  Gradually it grew stronger, until Malfoy gradually began patting his head.

“Really, Potter,” he said after a moment.  “This is all the comfort I’ve got in me.  Please stand up.  Let’s go home.”

Harry sighed and did so, sliding up the wall the same way he went down.  He turned his head and studied Malfoy for a moment, and the other man looked back.  In his eyes, Harry thought that maybe he could see his own emotions reflected in Malfoy’s eyes.  But that couldn’t be, because Malfoy did have a home- the Manor.  And Harry had nowhere, not really. 

“Come on,” he said, taking Malfoy’s arm again as he pushed that thought away.  “Let’s go home.”

“Good idea Potter, wish I’d thought of that,” Malfoy quipped as they began to walk.

“Oh shut up Malfoy,” Harry returned.  Not his best, but then again, they were drunk.  A small smile crossed his face, as if there was nothing else he’d rather be doing than walking alone at night with his former rival, occasionally stumbling into each other.  Harry was sure that smile would never have occurred if he were sober.  Okay, he was 99% sure.

After dropping Malfoy off at his car, Harry stumbled back to his own.  The effects of the alcohol he’d imbued had not waned with time, and he flopped into his bed after pulling off most of his clothes, keeping only his trainers on for some reason that Merlin only knew. 

Sleep claimed him quickly but didn’t keep him.  He woke up to his door banging open very loudly; he could feel the reverberation through the wall.  With fumbling, clumsy fingers he reached for his wand.

“Who there?” he asked inelegantly, tongue feeling heavy and rough in his mouth.  He heard whoever it was run into something and the curse that came forth was in a tone he recognized.  “Malfoy?” he called out, sitting up and rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses, which he’d also forgotten to take off.

“Potter?” the voice called back, obviously mocking him. 

Harry flopped back in bed, not being able to see much as Malfoy had closed the door, quite quietly too.  “What do you want?” he whined, not even caring that Malfoy would make fun of him for it.

“You,” Malfoy whispered and Harry jumped because the voice was literally right next to him. 

“Wha-“ he started, sitting up, only to find a Malfoy straddling his thighs and Merlin, that was something he thought he’d never have to think, let alone have happen. 

Before he could say something more eloquent, like “what the hell is going on here?”  his mouth was occupied in a kiss.  With Malfoy of all people.  Harry made a strangled noise at the back of his throat and his hands went to Malfoy’s upper arms, which were bare for some reason.  Oh God had he walked here in the nude?

The mouth pressed against his own was hot and silky and all those good things you read about in romance novels.  Not that he’d never… er, well.  But it was… nice.  Malfoy’s mouth was normally thin looking, but pressed against his own, it felt full and soft.  Their mouths moved together, not with a devouring intensity, but with a slow sort of exploration, as if this was just one of many to come.  But Harry couldn’t allow himself to think like that.  So he simply closed his eyes and felt and enjoyed.

They separated with a soft, wet pop and Harry didn’t allow himself to think of how _that_ had just been his first kiss with Malfoy.  What he did allow himself to think about was how nice the kisses the other man was pressing along his jaw were.  And how great it felt when he rolled his hips like that.  And how they were going to be having sex.  Oh yeah they were. 

Harry rolled them until Draco was spread out beneath him, and he wished there was light, he wished he could see.  But he couldn’t so he imagined.  Blond hair spread out over his pillow in a sort of halo, though Malfoy was anything but heavenly.  Grey eyes, heavy-lidded.  Bare chest heaving.  Nipples the color of dusty rose hard in the night air.  Erection lying thickly on his stomach, heavy and hard and perfect.

He could imagine this perfectly because he’d seen it before.  Almost every night, in fact, underneath the bright lights of the big top. 

Suddenly he didn’t want sex anymore.  He wanted Malfoy to leave.

Harry sat back on his heels at the very end of the bed.  Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep, fortifying breath. 

A hand was placed on his upper thigh.  “Potter?” a soft voice questioned.  It took all he had for Harry not to fall right back on his partner and never let him leave.  But he couldn’t because that would be wrong.  On so many levels.

“You need to leave,” he choked out. 

There was a pause and then the hand was removed, all at once.  Harry could feel the imprint of it like a brand on his thigh, could feel where the fingers had spread out, not possessive but sure.  And he shouldn’t be sure because Harry wasn’t his.  He never could be; he could never been anyone’s.  That was the price of a whore, more so than the fee they got paid. 

“You need to leave,” he repeated.

There was a shuffling and he knew from the way the bed felt that Malfoy had gotten up.  He stood there in silence for a while, but if he saw anything, Harry didn’t know what it was he saw.  His emotions were written all over his face right now, he knew. 

“Please,” he said, so close to begging it almost hurt.  His throat felt blocked, like he was about to start crying.  “Just go.”

A few more seconds of silence and then Malfoy was walking away.  Harry stared down at his duvet, not even looking up when the door opened and he could feel Malfoy’s eyes on him.  After a long moment, about 5 heartbeats if Harry’s measurement was exact (he didn’t think it was; his heart was racing), Malfoy stepped out and the door shut with a too-loud bang.

Harry fell down onto the bed face-first, as if his body had been held up by some puppeteer who had cut the strings.  He gathered the pillows and the covers into his body, grasping for something, anything, that could fill the emptiness that had opened within him like a wide, gaping hole.  He started shivering and couldn’t stop, as if the desolation he’d ignored for so long was going to swallow him whole.

The worst part was, he hoped it would.  Death would be better than this.  Harry knew better than anyone else.

His first thought the next morning:  Well, shit. 

That summed it all up, basically.  Harry lay staring at the wall.  He began work again that night, but the thought was honestly enough to make him want to call in sick.  Except he really couldn’t do that.  For one, the boss would never allow it, and for another, he couldn’t allow Malfoy to think that anything was wrong.  Except it was. 

He rolled over to stare at the ceiling.  Now what?  Obviously he would go to work and… he would try to act as normal as possible.  Or well, as close to normal as he could.  Harry sighed and checked the clock, groaning at the time.  There was no way he was getting back to sleep now and it was still hours before the night circus would begin.

He stood up and began to make tea.  It was the only way he knew to get rid of the anxiety about tonight.  But even tea didn’t help this.  He didn’t know if anything could.

 

That night, the two of them got ready in uncharacteristic silence.  It was unnerving and Harry felt more jittery than ever.  He’d not felt this way since their first show, and that was… He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.  He could do this.  It was just like any other show.

“Ready?” he asked as Natalia finished and Ron introduced their act.

“As ready as ever,” Malfoy answered.  Harry could have gone through the night just fine if Malfoy had said it in an annoyed way.  He could have dealt with it if his voice was scornful or rude.  That would be typical Malfoy.  But he didn’t deal well when Malfoy said it like that, so void of emotion. 

He took a deep breath.  It was going to be a hell of a night.

 

“You didn’t hit very hard,” Malfoy complained later as they were leaving the big top. 

“Sorry,” Harry apologized, although he wasn’t.  He couldn’t bring himself to hit Malfoy like usual, and this display of emotion was honestly scaring him.  He wasn’t used to feeling this way anymore, not this… protective.  Remorseful, although why, he couldn’t say.  Turning Malfoy away was the right thing to do last night.  They’d both been drunk and it was just… a bad idea.

Malfoy grumbled beside him, which was a good thing because that meant things were back to normal and Harry was forgiven.  They could have tea and talk about inconsequential things until Hermione came and…

“See you later Potter,” Malfoy said as they stopped outside Harry’s car.

He stopped dead and stared at the other man.  “What?”  He barely got out that one word, such was the greatness of his shock. 

“I’m going back to my car,” Malfoy said, looking puzzled.  Why puzzled?  He shouldn’t be puzzled they had a routine and Malfoy was breaking it.

“But… I… but… TEA!”  Harry burst out, unable to stop himself.  It was inarticulate, yes, and typical Harry but he didn’t know how else to get across his point.

“What about tea?” Malfoy asked, looking a bit startled.

“You always come in for tea.”  Oh Merlin did he really sound that pitiful?

Malfoy shrugged.  “I just don’t want any tonight.”  He stepped back and Harry wanted to grab him and make him drink some tea and be normal and pretend the last night had never happened.  “I’ll see you later, yeah?”  Not waiting for a reply, Malfoy walked away as Harry stood there in shock.

How long he was there, outside his car, Harry didn’t know.  Time was measured once more in heartbeats, except this times the beats were long and slow and painful.  Oh.  Oh.  He dropped the arm he didn’t know he’d been holding out, reaching for the ghost of what had been and maybe would never be again.  God, he’d messed up, hadn’t he?

Harry shook his head and turned, walking into his car with the sort of mindless shuffle he hated.  Since he didn’t know what else to do, he made tea.  But he couldn’t decide which kind, so he settled on a white tea.  As it was steeping he put his stuff away, mind blank as he tried to settle into a routine. 

When the kettle whistled, Harry poured himself a cup, grimacing when he saw he’d made enough for two.  He sighed and settled into his chair, resuming his count of rings on his table.  It was 25 when Hermione burst him, not looking at him as usual.

“Good show tonight boys-“ she was saying, cutting off abruptly when she saw just Harry.  “Where’s Malfoy?”

“Not here.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear with a hooked little finger.  “Obviously Harry.  Why isn’t he?”

Harry shrugged.

“Oh Harry,” Hermione said, settling into Draco’s chair.  Fuck, _Harry_ ’s other chair.  It wasn’t owned by Malfoy.  “What did you do?”

“What makes you think I did anything?”  Harry asked, affronted, although she was right.  Damn her.

“Because it’s always you.  Don’t pretend it’s not.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he protested.

And then she gave him that look.  That look that said “We both know you did something so cut the bullshit and tell me what it is so you can fix it.  With my help of course.”  Harry hated that look, he really did.  Because it always made him-

“He kissed me and I kissed him back and then we were gonna have sex but I told him to get out.” It made him do that.  Harry winced. 

“Oh Harry.”  Here it came.  The arse-reeming as Hermione handed him a new one.  He deserved it really he did.  “You’re an idiot.”

They sat there in silence for a moment as Harry waited for her to go on.  “Um… is that it?” he asked cautiously. 

Hermione sighed.  “No, of course not.  But you’re obviously beating yourself up over it enough as it is, so why do you need me to do it for you?”

Harry snorted into his tea.  “I don’t, I really don’t.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened, with details this time?” Hermione asked, getting up to pour herself the extra cup of tea.

So Harry started talking.  And the whole story started pouring out of him, all the feelings he’d denied himself for so long spilling forth like a dam had been opened within his mind.  He couldn’t stop himself, telling ever sordid detail that Hermione probably didn’t need to know, like how Malfoy felt against them and how his lips were softer than Harry had thought they would be.  And fuck, by the end, he was breaking hard as if he’d forgotten to breathe while speaking.  Christ.  Maybe he had left it too long.

Hermione sat there sipping her tea and appraising him over the rim.  She didn’t say anything at all, just looked at him with a strange half-smile on her lips.

“Well?” Harry asked after a long moment.

“Well what?”

“What should I do?” he burst out.  “Help me Hermione!”

“Hm, well.”  She sat her cup on the table, adding yet another ring.  26.  “I think the first thing you should do,” she continued, sitting back.  “is sort out your feelings.”

“My feelings?”

“Yes.  How you feel about Draco.”

“I-“ he started, but couldn’t finish.  He honestly didn’t know how he felt.  Harry frowned.  That was troubling. 

“Do you like him as a friend and feel like you’ve jeopardized that relationship?” she asked softly.  “Or do you like him as more and feel as though you’ve lost your only opportunity?”

Harry sat back to think, although really, it wasn’t necessary.  His gut had never steered him wrong before and in this, it was shouting: the second one you idiot!  The second! 

“I- as more,” he answered finally and Hermione smiled.

“Of course you do.  It’s plainly obvious, so of course only I noticed.” 

Harry rolled his eyes.  “Thanks Hermione.  What should I do then, now that two of us have been clued in?”

“Well, tell him of course,” she answered.  Harry gave her a look like she was crazy, so of course she continued.  “You aren’t going to solve anything if you don’t.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Harry said, looking down at his hands.  “You know how I am with… those sort of things.”

“Well you need to get better,” she told him firmly.  Hermione stood and put her cup in the sink, coming over to him and running a hand through his hair.  “I meant it when I said you two would be good together.”  She kissed his forehead and pulled back, a wry smile on her face.  “Look, he’s even making you feel.  I thought that’d never happen again.”

“Oh get out,” he told her, but the hug he gave her after standing softened the words.  “Thanks,” he breathed into her neck and she patted his back. 

“No problem Harry.  Good luck.”  With that she left, sweeping out in the same way she came in. 

Harry sat back down and stared at the rings on his table.  Each connected to all the others, except for the one at the very end.  That one had been a lone circle, slowly fading with time.  Until Hermione had connected it just now.  Harry smiled slightly.  _I guess that solves it_ , he thought.   He went to bed with a smile on his face, anticipating the day ahead with an unusual fluttery feeling in his stomach. 

 

Except he couldn’t.  Every time he tried to tell Malfoy how he felt, something happened.  It’d be the perfect moment and then the Pansy would burst in and say something about how the Boss wanted Draco, or Malfoy had to rush off to do something or… or the words got stuck.  He’d have the perfect moment and he’d open his mouth to say something and then… then… it got stuck.  Just… nothing came out.  He sat there with his mouth open, like a gaping idiot. 

So that night, just before they went on stage, Harry decided he’d just blurt it out.  Natalia finished her song and walked out, winking at them and Harry picked up some nipple clamps and put them in his pocket to use for later. 

“So Malfoy,” he started, turning to look at him as Ron introduced them, and he thought that might be a good beginning.  “There’s, er, something I need to say.”

“Me too,” Malfoy said, looking him in the eyes.  “You first.”

“No, you,” Harry answered.  Oh God this was just all kinds of awkward.

The other man took a deep breath.  “After this, I’m quitting the show.”

Harry stared at him.  “Um… what?”

Malfoy couldn’t look at him, instead focusing on a point over his shoulder.  “I think it’s time I, you know, got a real job or tried to advance myself or- you know.”

“No,” Harry said quietly.  “I don’t know.” 

The audience was waiting and Ron was stalling as best he could, but it was time for them to go on and they both knew it.  But as Malfoy tried to push past him with a shake of his head, Harry blocked him with an arm.

Malfoy sighed.  “Really Potter, it’s not that hard to understand.”

“You’re leave,” Harry stated flatly.

“Yes.”

“Is this-“ Harry hesitated a moment, then pushed on.  “Is this because of what happened the other night?”

“No.”  Though he denied it, Malfoy couldn’t look him in the eye. 

“Don’t lie,” Harry said quietly, still staring at him. 

Malfoy hesitated then whispered: “Yes.”

And Harry had to leave.  Screw the audience, screw the show, and screw Malfoy.  So much for a good last show.

 

“Harry,” Hermione called the next morning, opening his door without any regard to the light streaming into his room, something he was very unused to.  He groaned into his pillow.  “The boss wants to see you.”

He raised his head and scrubbed a hand over his eyes.  “What?  The boss?”

“Did you drink last night?” Hermione asked, snapping her fingers in front of his nose.  “Yes, the boss.  Get dressed, he’s a busy man.”

“Okay, okay,” Harry said, getting out of bed.  “Some privacy please?”

“He’s expecting you in five minutes,” Hermione said as she headed out.  “Don’t be late!” she called over her shoulder before slamming his door shut.

Harry dressed quickly, as Hermione was right: the boss _was_ a busy man.  And an important one.  He was the one who decided Harry’s future at the circus after all. 

After pulling on a somewhat professional outfit, Harry made his way to the head of the train.  The boss’ car was right behind the engine and its coal car.  He had the biggest car, and ran the whole circus from inside it.  Harry knocked on the door and shifted from foot to foot anxiously.  Whenever the boss wanted to see someone, it wasn’t good.

The door opened to reveal Luna standing there, dressed in her fortunetelling outfit.  Luna was lucky enough to work in the Day Circus, telling the fortune of the little children who came to see her.  It was the best position for her, if Harry was being honest.

“Oh, hello Harry,” she said in her dreamy way.  “You look awfully troubled.”

“Er, I am going to see the boss,” he pointed out to her and she smiled. 

“Oh yes, of course.  Well, see you later Harry.”  And with that, she jumped out of the car and headed off, looking up at the clouds.  Harry watched her for a moment before taking a deep, fortifying breath and entered the car. 

The boss was sitting at his own coffee table, nursing a cup of tea.  “Hey boss,” Harry said, taking the seat across from him.  “You wanted to see me.”

The boss smiled.  “Harry, we’ve known each other since we were eleven.  You can call me Neville, you know.”

Sometimes Harry couldn’t believe that the boy who’d lost his toad on the train was the man who sat before him now.  Neville had grown up, not just physically but mentally.  He was a strong man, much stronger than Harry was.  He had dealt with the death of his grandmother and then the sudden death of his parents with a grace Harry could never have imagined.  Then he’d saved them all by creating this carnival, saved them from themselves.  Harry didn’t know how he’d ever repay him. 

“Sorry Nev,” Harry grinned.  “What is it you wanted to see me about?”

“Tea?” Neville offered instead, avoiding the question.  When Harry shook his head, Neville put his cup down (on a coaster, that bastard) and sat back, appraising him.  “How do you feel about Draco leaving?”

Harry shrugged, trying to keep his emotions from playing all over his face.  “It’ll be sad.  And we’ll have to start looking for a replacement of course.”  He wouldn’t let anyone see how much he’d miss Malfoy.  Not even Neville.

Neville stared at him for a long moment, then laughed out of nowhere.  Harry smiled in confusion, not quite sure what was so funny. 

“You’re a horrible liar Harry,” Neville told him, wide grin splitting his face. 

“I am?” Harry asked, surprised the other had seen through his façade. 

“Yep.”  Neville leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.  “Now tell the truth: How do you feel about Draco leaving?”

Harry swallowed thickly.  “Horrible.  Everything seems to be happening all at once.  I mean, first he kisses me and then I figure out how I feel about him and now he’s leaving.”  He let out a long exhale and ran a hand through his hair.  “And I don’t want him to go,” he said quietly.

“Hm.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Harry asked, raising his head.  “Hm?  That’s it?  Not: ‘wow Harry, sorry about that mate.  that sucks.’?” 

“Nope.  None of that.”  Neville smiled.  “You know why I put you together with Malfoy?”

“Because he asked for me to be the dom?” Harry answered, confused at the way this conversation had turned.

Neville shrugged.  “Partially.  But I also saw how good it could be for you.”

“Sorry but… what the hell are you talking about?”

The boss smirked.  “Harry, you and Malfoy have known each other since the train ride in first year.  And in some ways, you’ve had a closer connection than even you and Ron or Hermione. 

Malfoy was your counterpart, your antithesis.  While you were the light, he was the dark, and yet, you both have many similarities.  You are opposite but… opposites attract.  You and he have always been connected, always been close in ways I didn’t even realize until we started this.  Malfoy is your other half, the sub to your dom and you… you needed that.”  Neville shrugged and sat back.  “So I made it happen.”

Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.  “Well shit Neville.  Hermione better step down.”

The other man laughed.  “Hardly.  I just know you two.”  He got serious look on his face.  “But Harry, even I can’t stop Malfoy from leaving.  He’s liked you for a long time and I think whatever happened between you two was the last straw.  You need to fix this, if you want any kind of future with him.  So… get to it.”  Neville made a shooing motion and Harry stood.

“Thanks Nev,” he said with a grin.  “Didn’t know you were a matchmaker.”

“I’m not,” Neville answered, lifting his tea to his lips.  “I’m just in this for the profits.”

Harry left laughing and headed off with a spring in his step to Malfoy’s car.  He wouldn’t leave until that night, Neville had told him before leaving, so Harry knew he could find him there.  He didn’t bother knocking on the door, instead barging right in just like Malfoy had a tendency to do.

His car was much neater than Harry’s with everything in its proper place.  Even the bed was made and Malfoy was standing at his stove, putting the kettle on.  So he did keep tea in his car.  Who knew?

The object of his undoubtedly misplaced affection turned around, one eyebrow raised.  “Potter?  Come to pull another moody stunt?”

“No,” Harry answered, smile tugging on his lips as he stepped into the car and around the table.

“What do you want, then?” Malfoy asked, sighing wearily. 

“You,” Harry answered, closing the distance before him and kissing Malfoy with the same gentleness that had imbued their first kiss.

This time it was Malfoy who made the helpless little noise in the back of his throat, reaching up to twine his arms around Harry’s neck.  They kissed like men who were drowning, like their whole reason for living was the other’s mouth.  The kettle whistled but neither of them noticed, parting only when the need for air became too great.

“I-“ Malfoy started, seeming a bit speechless.  It was a look Harry though he liked.  “What- I mean- what?”

Harry smiled softly and raised a hand to his cheek, running a thumb over the sharp, aristocratic cheekbone.  “Please don’t leave,” he said softly.  “I need you.”

Malfoy sighed and pulled away, disentangling himself from the other to put distance between them.  “No you don’t,” he said.  “You made that very clear the other night.”

“Ah, I was an arse,” Harry said, smirking.  “And not the good kind, like yours.  I was… confused.  I’ve seen the error of my ways.”

“Is that so?”  There was that eyebrow again, raised in a maddening way. 

“That’s the truth,” he nodded.  “Want me to prove it to you?”

Draco smirked.  “I think I will need some convincing…”

Harry smiled and pulled the other man to him, pressing their bodies flush against each other.  Instead of taking Malfoy’s lips like the other man obviously wanted, he pressed soft kisses along his jaw and down the line of his neck.  Then Harry stepped back and took his hands, walking them slowly over to the bed. 

He laid Malfoy down on the bed, preciously, in a way they never got to do during their show.  This wouldn’t be their first time, far from it, but it would be the first time that counted.  And that was really all Harry needed.  Words began coming into play, though they were simple things such as names and “Please”.   Then there was the sound of a cap being opened and the slick sounds of oil on skin.

Harry couldn’t stop the gasp that burst forth when he entered Draco for what must have been the hundredth time but surely felt like the first.  The feeling was unreal, the velvety grip that held him like the finest glove, but surely no glove ever felt this good.  And then Harry began to move and the pleasure was more intense than he could ever have imagined. _Is this what Heaven feels like?_ he wondered before his mind fizzled to white noise as he came, placing a bite on Draco’s collarbone that was sure to leave a mark.

While the sex was good, it was nothing compared to the way, after all was said and done, that Draco clung to him, pressing wet, slow kisses onto Harry’s face, his neck, his chest and shoulders and any place he could reach. 

“Don’t leave,” Harry whispered into his neck hours later.  “I need you.  Don’t leave.”

He could feel Draco smile against the shell of his ear, then let out a sigh.  “I suppose I can’t leave.  You do have most of my tea, you know.” 

And Harry laughed.  If this was what being a whore was like, he didn’t want to be anything else.


End file.
